


Taken

by dollylux



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Bathroom Sex, Frottage, Grinding, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter with Rafa in the restaurant of the hotel in which Roger is staying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken

Rafa wasn't staying at the same hotel Roger was. He didn't even know where it was Roger was staying, if he had to be honest. He would rather have not known at all, would rather have kept the professional completely separate from that sort of private knowledge. It was Friday before he was set to play Andy Murray in the semis, and he had had two whole days off. It was as much of a luxury as he could afford in New York, so far from home. He had finally been talked into going out to dinner by Uncle Toni who insisted that Rafa go somewhere besides the practice courts and his hotel room. He had wanted his scallops and rice yet again, but he knew that going out would distract him from tennis, if only for a couple of hours. His whole family was in and the hotel room had a warmth now that had been lacking before their arrival. By the time he put on his nice slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt, he was excited about eating out. And his stomach was complaining rather loudly.

The Carlyle Hotel was on the eastside of Manhattan, tucked on Madison Avenue. It reeked of money and history, just the sort of place that made Rafa squirm and wish for a dive bar with televisions blaring sports and rowdy laughter, dark corners and greasy food. His head gnawed at him that he should get used to such things, that he was number one in the world now, he should be used to stuffy restaurants and jaw-dropping menu prices.

The restaurant was candlelit and elegant. Classical music played unobtrusively from the depths of the walls, and everyone ate and laughed and spoke with such grace and fluidity that he tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves, tucked his hair nervously behind his ears as he was seated at a linen-covered table. He gave a twitch of a smile to the girl who had pushed his chair in, looking around as he waited for the rest of his family to file in and be seated. The other patrons paid them little mind, surely they were used to celebrities, certainly ones of a much bigger caliber than Rafael Nadal. The thought put him at momentary ease. He smiled absently at his sister, lost in the happy thought of how beautiful she had become. The ride over left him feeling melancholy for reasons he couldn't yet figure out, left him feeling rather alone even amongst the people he loved the most. He had found himself squeezing his hand open and closed against the leather seat of the Mercedes that had driven them, realizing that his fingers ached to close around someone else's, that his palms felt empty. He was lonely. Lonely in ways that even his family couldn't quite make up for.

His eyes went unfocused on Maribel, refocusing a moment later behind her. He blinked a couple of times at the pair of figures who were now making their way from the hotel lobby entrance through the dining room. He would have recognized one of the figures in pitch darkness, the lean elegance of Roger Federer was immediate and unmistakable. He felt his heart in his throat as he looked him over in something akin to desperation, eyes flashing first on his face and then up to the soft fall of curls at the back of his neck, down the solid line of his shoulders and chest, all the way down to his fingers which were loosely entangled with Mirka's. Rafa forced himself to look at her, smiling softly for how timeless they both looked, jealous of how they made it look so easy, jealous of the casual intimacy between them, the ease with which Roger pulled her chair out, with which he touched her bare shoulders as he made his way to his own seat. Her smile was secret and deeply content, an emotion so obvious and foreign to Rafa that he shifted his eyes and his body, looking away from them and busying himself with his menu.

By the time he glanced up again, it had been several minutes and his entourage hadn't seem to notice the new couple that had arrived. Rafa was relieved by that, and he took it as a sort of permission to glance up at them again through his eyelashes, as if at any second he could look away, as if he didn't really care at all. Roger looked stunning in such lighting, looked like he was made of warmth. His fingers were laced up with Mirka's still, their elbows bent on the edge of the table. He was twisting the large diamond ring on her left hand with his thumb and forefinger, searching her eyes as he spoke to her quietly. He leaned in suddenly for a kiss which made his lips look like pillows, all softness. Rafa bit down deep and hard into his own bottom lip, punishing himself for invading on such a moment, looking away intently and actually focusing on the menu, deciding in two blinks that he wanted the Italian dish of rice and shrimp. He liked what he liked.

Rafa had infused himself into the conversation going on around him during dinner, finally easing up a bit and laughing, actually enjoying himself though he kept one eye discreetly on Roger and Mirka behind his father and sister. They had yet to spot him, or at least that was what Rafa gathered. He took another sip of the wine he had been nursing through his meal, his eyes traveling across the room and fixing on Roger again: his profile, his jaw, cheekbone, lips, eyelashes, neck. Suddenly something changed, causing him to blink quickly, trying to focus correctly out of his daydream. He realized with sudden and nauseating horror that his eyes were now fixed with Roger's, that those cheeks were now lifted in a smile that was directed at _him_ , that it was a genuine and somehow private smile. He gasped, choking on a bit of rice. He looked away in sheer mortification, shrinking down to cover his mouth with a tightly closed fist, his face burning hot with embarrassment and lack of air as he coughed, the sound huge in such a proper, quiet restaurant, disrupting everyone for a moment before conversations slowly picked up once again. He took another drink of his wine when he could finally stop coughing. Everyone at his table was laughing good-naturedly, eating as if nothing was wrong. He felt like a child when he felt the gentle pats on his back, the friendly tugs on his hair. By the time he could bring himself to look back up at Roger, he was looking away again, his whole world Mirka for the moment.

Roger looked as if he belonged there, as if sumptuous surroundings could be comfortable, natural. He made it all look so easy, from the somehow poised way he was sprawled in his chair to the ease with which he ate four-hundred dollar caviar. He looked so effortlessly sexy there, like a photoshoot or a romance novel. The thought felt immediately silly and made Rafa blush. As if on cue, Roger looked over again, capturing Rafa with those eyes, with that very same smile that didn't seem at all put off by the way Rafa had choked seemingly on his own stupidity. Roger lifted his hand with a small uncurling of fingers to wave at him, punctuating the wave with a slow nod of his head. The movement made Mirka look up, and she spotted Rafa immediately. She grinned at him in such an honest way that Rafa's expression immediately mirrored hers, and he gave them a small nod in return, opting out of a wave because he didn't want to turn it into a spectacle as his family found out that Roger and Mirka were eating in the very same restaurant.

When Roger looked away once again, Rafa felt his chest tighten a little, desperate to earn his gaze again, to receive one of those little smiles that meant they knew each other, that they had spoken at length, that a lot had passed between them, that Roger was happy to see him. His hand opened and closed more quickly than in the car, but the tick was hidden beneath the table, on his own thigh. His food was forgotten in front of him, pushed around like when he was little and was asked to eat something he didn't particularly like. He reached once again for the wine, finishing off the glass which was his second and which left him with a warm, cloudy feeling behind his eyes. He lifted his hand to have his glass refilled immediately.

Twenty minutes had passed uneventfully when Roger stood, silently pushing his chair back, head bowed as he excused himself from the table. His hand came up to hold his dinner jacket closed, long fingers absently buttoning it, his body turned as if to head for the restroom. Rafa watched this fitfully, sitting straight up in his chair, knuckles white as he clutched his half-empty glass. He watched as Roger stepped away from the table, his heart stopping when suddenly his eyes were on him again, the moment so fleeting that he simply stared, disbelieving that it had happened. When he got one more pointed look from Roger, over the shoulder this time, he put his glass down. He watched him disappear through the doorway that lead to the hotel lobby and the restrooms there. He counted to ten before he stood up himself, mumbling an excuse to Uncle Toni as he practically rushed out of the dining room, refusing to look over at Mirka in case she saw him.

His pace slowed out of sheer nervousness by the time he made it through the lobby, looking around in awe of the sheer beauty of this place, afraid that his shoes weren't shined enough, that the soles were going to scuff the marble floor. He opened the bathroom door and peered in before he slipped inside, his heart drumming so loudly in his ears that he couldn't hear anything else. Roger was there, standing at one of the many urinals. He was at the middle one, his posture slightly slouched and distinctly male, a posture only necessary when using the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, Rafa walked slowly up to the urinal beside him, unzipping his pants and reaching through his underwear to pull himself out, closing his eyes as he started to piss, tonguing hard at the inside of his lip that he had chewed raw very recently.

When he reopened his eyes he saw Roger still standing next to him, facing him now. He shook and tucked himself back into his pants quickly, blushing for the thought that Roger had seen his dick though he had seen it countless times before in the locker rooms. This felt different, less of an excuse for it. When he met his eyes there was a question in his own, but a hopeful one. Roger's smile was quiet, and suddenly he felt so close. Rafa wavered as he turned to face him.

"Didn't know you were staying here."

Rafa shook his head, giving him a smile and a breath of laughter. He shoved his hands down into his pockets and tried not to stare at Roger's mouth, at how pink it was. He licked his own lips, hard.

"I'm not. I... Toni heard good things about this place. He wanted that we come here to eat before we leave this time. Never know when that will happen, no?"

Roger made a small noise of agreement, and he took a small step toward Rafa. It could have been entirely casual, entirely friendly, but it made Rafa's heart speed up again, made it feel dangerously high up in his throat. He couldn't help but notice that Roger's eyes were lowered and trained on his own mouth. Rafa felt overwhelmingly nervous when Roger didn't speak.

"M-Mirka... she look beautiful tonight. Very happy."

" _You_ look beautiful tonight." Roger's voice was so quiet, so gruff that Rafa wondered if he had heard him right. He tried to catch Roger's eyes to ask the question without having to say anything, but Roger wasn't quite paying attention to how Rafa was reacting to what he'd said. He looked intent, lost in his own thoughts. When he took another step toward him, Rafa almost jumped out of his skin. He found himself pressed back against a tiled wall so cold that he felt it through his shirt. He shivered, torn between the heat that Roger was now emanating close to his chest and the ice of the wall. The sudden rush of hot breath from Roger's mouth against his own made him waver. Roger didn't kiss him, but the energy snapping and singing between their lips felt like they had been kissing for hours. Rafa sighed against his mouth, leaning back against the wall. He brought a hand up to ghost along Roger's cheek but not quite touching. He could feel how soft his skin would be, how clean-shaven and smooth. A whimper left his lips and sounded so loud between them, making them both painfully aware of how desperate he felt in this moment, how vulnerable to Roger.

"God, I want to kiss you." Roger almost purred this against Rafa's mouth, his lips parting to tempt them both even more, the petal-softness of his lips catching minutely on Rafa's. He brought his hands up and planted them on either side of Rafa's head against the wall, trapping him there, tormenting himself. Rafa looked so young, so deliciously ripe for the picking, but only if Roger got to do the picking. His mouth smelled sweet with wine. He could almost taste it. "But I can't. I just have to let you torture me, and I can't do a thing about it."

Rafa curled his body out toward Roger's, only his shoulders pressed against the wall now. He pushed his head forward, mouth parting to try and catch his mouth in a kiss, no matter how small. Roger pulled his own mouth back in exact tandem with Rafa's moving forward, keeping him at a very tiny distance that was just enough to keep their mouths apart. Rafa whimpered again but it was louder this time, more urgent, more pathetic.

"But why?"

"I couldn't do that to her. Not after everything she's done for me. No matter how much I want to..." Roger trailed off as the possibilities and daydreams flew through his mind. He conformed his body suddenly to Rafa's, eliciting a sharp gasp from Rafa as their bodies made contact point by point, their heights exact, perfect. Only their mouths stayed apart. "Jesus Christ."

He dug his hips against Rafa's, feeling the outline of his dick against his stomach through his pants. His hands curled into loose fists on either side of Rafa's head, his fingers sliding through his hair, so, so tempted to tug. "Fuck."

"Yes." Rafa was panting now, completely taken with Roger and with every single thing he was doing, everything he was saying. He pushed his hands down behind Roger to grip his ass through those designer pants, appreciating in a distracted way how tailored they were, how they hugged every gentle curve as he used that grip to pull him more snugly against himself. He could hardly believe this was happening. "Yes, please, fuck."

"No, we..." Roger's breath came out in a small laugh against Rafa's lips, but it was a sweet laugh. He shook his head as he parted Rafa's legs with a strong thigh, pushing it up to nestle between his legs and settle firmly against his crotch. Rafa relaxed his knees to dig in even harder, rubbing himself against Roger's solid muscles. Rafa cried out, his forehead bumping against Roger's as he closed his eyes. "It can't happen, Raf. It just can't."

Roger pressed against him completely, his hands sliding up the wall until his arms were resting against it from wrist to elbow, nails digging at the grout between the tiles. Rafa's leg was thick and powerful as it came up to rest between his own legs. He settled down against it and immediately started to grind against it, feeling himself being pulled even closer with those strong hands on his ass. He had to close his eyes to keep from coming just looking at him.

"Roger, I'm... so jealous." Rafa could scarcely breathe as they ground against each other, as they got off on the perfect movement of each other's bodies. Their mouths were parted and ready to crush each other at any second, only Roger's willpower keeping them apart. "You sit over there, the way you look at her, the way you no have to say anything to know..." Rafa's mind was swimming with words, most of them Spanish and useless to him at the moment. Every part of his body was nestled against the most delicious places on Roger's body, and the sweat that he could feel on Roger's body now through the layers of his clothes only aroused him more. "I want that. With you. I want it."

Roger kept his eyes firmly closed, lost in the rhythm of Rafa's body against his own which was growing more frantic by the second, lost in his words which were breathless and intimate and almost despairing, lost in his moans which sounded obscenely like the ones he made on court, in the heat of the game. He dug into him with every ounce of his strength, desperate to get off and to get Rafa off. He let out open mouthed cries now, so turned on by how much Rafa wanted him more than anything that his orgasm hit him with a massive force, shoving him up against Rafa, thrusting into him and burying him against the wall as he came in the safety of pants. Rafa's nails tore as he dug hard into Roger's ass, snagging on the fabric as he came against him, their dicks pressed hard against each other, burning with shared heat. Their bodies flickered just there against each other for what felt like hours, trying so hard to come down from such a desperate, sudden climax but trying to preserve the moment for as long as they could. Roger finally sighed against Rafa's mouth, their foreheads dragging against each other. Rafa lifted a hand to drag it indulgently through Roger's hair, doing it again, as long as Roger would let him.

"Christ." Rafa heard Roger curse under his breath the very same second he felt his body leave his own. He loosened his grip on him, sheepish about how he had been holding onto him now. Rafa still couldn't quite catch his breath. He met Roger's eyes and searched them, expecting and wanting so much but not knowing exactly what, and not knowing how to ask for it even if he did know. Roger slowly returned to himself, Rafa could see it in little increments: the straightening of his jacket, the glance at the mirror, the smoothing of now mussed hair. He quickly swiped some paper towels and pushed them down into his pants to wipe himself as clean as he could get. Rafa did the same mindlessly, running his lips back and forth against his teeth as he did, anything to avoid looking at Roger. When they were both clean and obviously ready to leave, they looked up at each other, both not expecting the glance. Roger gave Rafa an easy smile, reaching over to touch his cheek with a quickly retreating hand.

"Wait five minutes and then come back out." He looked at Rafa for a long moment, toying with a few more things to say, with all of the decisions he could make but most definitely shouldn't. He shook his head in a bit of awe of what had just happened, the taken, secret smile not leaving his lips as he stepped out of the bathroom, hands in his pockets as he made his way back across the lobby toward Mirka. His feet felt like lead, every step away from Rafa feeling like more of a mistake than the last.


End file.
